


Terra Incognita

by Seal9



Series: Legends of Interest [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season 3 of Legends, Anachronisms, Episode: s04e20 Terra Incognita, Hallucinations, Poi, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 12:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16994787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seal9/pseuds/Seal9
Summary: Tasked with a Level One Anachronism in Chicago 2003, Mick finds more than he bargained for as he must deal with his past and come to terms with decisions and choices he has made.Based on Person of Interest Season 4 Episode 20 - Terra Incognita





	Terra Incognita

**Author's Note:**

> This is an exert from my Person of Interest inspired Legends of Tomorrow series. I've been writing the series in non-chronological order so I do not know where this fits into the bigger story. In the large story that I am working on, this will make a reappearance within the new work, but with some alterations depending on when this story fits in place. 
> 
> If you've seen the Person of Interest episode by the same name, you will probably have a really good idea of how this story will be structured. I stuck quite close to the structure and order of how the episode plays out, and definitely put a lot of Reese into the way I wrote Mick.

As is the usual between the two of them, their fights are dirty. Leonard is tactical, and Mick is brutal. At least, Mick was until he learnt to be both due to his time spent as Chronos. Leonard got a few good punches in, a fist across the pyro’s cheek and one straight into his ribs, but Mick had him to the floor seconds later and was pounding his traitorous partner’s face in. 

But then he stopped after the third punch. Leonard’s face was battered, nose definitely broken at this point, and face bright red due to the hard-hitting punches. Mick just glared at the face of his opponent before throwing himself back and leaning himself against the barrier of the basic prison cell he’s been confined to since being spared by the rest of the team. 

Leonard coughed, blood spilling from his mouth a bit, “We had a deal Mick. Kill me and you walk.” 

Such a simple plan. Finish the scrawny punk off right now and leave everything behind. 

He touches his chest, right where Leonard’s punch had gotten his ribs. It stings significantly, and while the quantity of the punches against him were low, their quality more than made up for it. A concussion was forming, he could tell considering he’s used to them by now, but that doesn’t make him resistant to them. 

“It’s what you wanted. To get off the team,” Leonard continues, a weak arm resting on his stomach. 

There’s truth in his former partner’s word, but Mick’s unsure as to how much. His head throbs, and it distracts him. He had something to say, but the thoughts escape him, and he’s left speechless.

“Or you could let the internal haemorrhaging kill me,” Leonard sighs at the silence, “That works too.”

Mick looks over to Leonard’s supine form, chest shakily rising and falling between breaths, “I’m not going to kill you.”  
Leonard has enough energy to open his eyes and turn his head sideways to look at Mick, “Why not?”  
“I don’t know!” Mick growls, eyes flaring wide at Leonard, and he watches his former partner recoil in fear. 

Fear. There had been a lot of it in the recent days. From hijacking the Waverider, to abducting Snart and describing the intricate details of his plan to kill the team, and more importantly Lisa, to now. He had the Time Masters to thank for teaching him the tactics. Brutality only goes so far to achieving one’s goals. Finding the right balance, learning how to tactically use that brutality, opens up far more opportunities. 

Silence permeates in the room. At least, everything but the shaky breaths coming from both of them. 

Mick touches his ribs again. God, it hurts. 

XXX

“Mick! You listening?” Sara’s voice echoes across the bridge and into the captain’s office where Mick is currently sitting and staring blankly off into nothing in particular. 

He’s subtle in bringing his focus back into the conversation going on around the central console, and he looks at the captain calmly as an acknowledgement of his attention. 

“The anachronism appears to originate in August fourth, two-thousand and three,” Sara begins, “Gideon? Does your all-seeing database tell us anything about what to expect? Any possibility that this is related to our mysterious pain in our ass?”

Nate lets out a small giggle before recomposing himself at Amaya’s behest.

“I’m uncertain as to the connection between this anachronism and our unknown threat, but I have detected the source of the problem,” Gideon says before the hologram is brought up in the middle of the room. 

Different camera perspectives, one from an ATM machine, two from traffic camera lights, all show footage of a particular street in Chicago. There’s a small glitch in the archived footage that prevents her from identifying the specific street, but considering what happens around that period in history, it’s an acceptable problem. 

The footage is slightly blurry, but it’s not an issue in trying to determine the source of the problem. The source, which in fact, turns out to be a squad of soldiers wearing gear akin to that of WWII soldiers. Mick’s unsure from this distance, but he’s usually pretty good at identifying clothing and the associated time period. 

“What’s the level of this anachronism?” Amaya asks, interest gained on this matter, especially since she clearly recognises the uniforms.  
“Only a level one Ms Jiwe,” Gideon responds.

Mick scoffs, “Let the Bureau handle this. We’ve got bigger shit to deal with than a bunch of misplaced soldiers.”  
Sara crosses her arms and scolds in his direction, “No Mick, we broke time, so it’s our duty to fix it. Level one or level ten, an anachronism is still a problem, and our duty to fix,” a devilish grin forms on Sara’s face and Mick immediately has regret building up if he’s correct in what’s about to happen, “But since you seem so eager to help these poor soldiers get back to their correct time and place, I’m gonna let you handle this anachronism. A level one should be no challenge for you,” she teases, eyebrows narrowed at him. 

Mick rolls his eyes and reaches out for the beer on the table nearby and takes a swig before putting it back down, “Fine,” he grudgingly stomps down the steps of the parlour and heads towards the exit, “But if they piss me off, it’s not my fault if they get a little burnt.”

There’s a mixture of concern and scepticism from the others, but they shrug it off and let Mick carry on. None of them genuinely believe he’ll harm the soldiers, but they never really know when it comes to Mick’s decisions and temper.

The pyro stalks out of the bridge and heads towards the jump ship when a thought crosses his mind. Instead, he backtracks towards his room, enters the disarm code and walks inside. The chaos of his room is organised in a way that he understands, which allows him to easily traverse it and retrieve what he’s looking for from his shelf.

A very specific time courier is held in his hand, one that he had Gideon help sync with his former ship, the Pendulum, when and wherever it is. He slapped it around his wrist and exited the room, arming the traps once more before pressing the button on the device and waiting as the courier finds his ship. 

Whilst the time courier tracks his ship and prepares to form a portal, he hears footsteps behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees Amaya standing a few meters back.

“You need something?” Mick asks, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.  
Amaya slowly approaches him, “Just wanted to see if you’d like some company. Chicago was pretty fun the last time we visited, and I haven’t seen what it looks like modernised.”

For a brief moment, he almost thinks about saying yes, but something in his head tells him no. There’s something about this trip he feels like he should remember and it’s nagging at him, telling him that it should just be him for this mission. 

Like a door, the white veil of the breach opened up and the Waverider corridor led into the bounty hunter’s former Time Ship. 

Amaya isn’t wrong about Chicago being fun back in the twenties, but that’s not what has him bothered. It’s just the bond that formed between him and the woman during that mission. A closeness unlike any other that Mick has had before. Things were difficult back then during that time for him, and the memories associated with pushing her away, preventing the closeness from continuing, were memories he didn’t want to relive again.

“Nah,” Mick plays it off coolly, “I’m gonna handle this one on my own.”

He tries not to let himself get affected by the disappoint in her expression.

“Oh,” Amaya is quick to recover, “Well then, uh, good luck.”  
Mick nods, “Thanks,” and he crosses the portal into his ship. He turns back around to see Amaya still watching, “Maybe another time, once this is all over.”

The smile on her face manages to make it worth it. She nods, and moments later, the breach seals shut and it’s just him. 

“Hello again, Mr Rory,” Gilbert’s voice echoed across the open corridor.  
“August fourth, two-thousand and three,” Mick doesn’t greet the AI back and walks through the ship towards the bridge. 

Gilbert is vastly inferior to Gideon and lacks the emotional capacity to be offended by Mick’s cut-to-the-chase attitude right now, and immediately processes his captain’s request and begins spooling the engine for travel. 

A nagging feeling in the back of his head is pissing Mick off as he flies to the anachronism. The trip is short, thankfully, but he can’t help but think his brain is trying to tell him something, but he’s not sure what. His ship bursts out of the time stream, cloak engaged immediately as he sores over the city of Chicago and finds a suitable spot near the source of the anachronism to land. 

It's not what’s been nagging him, but he does realise that he never actually got the exact location of the source of the anachronism before heading off, which meant he was going to have to fly around for a bit and wait. Or he could spend the time to see some sights while he’s here. He knows he’s early, by about two and a half hours. 

A large multi-level carpark provides Mick with the perfect location to park his Time Ship. Although smaller than the Waverider, Pendulum is still a relatively large vessel, and to make sure he’s not discovered, Mick has to block off the entrance of the carpark’s top level to prevent anyone from driving up and accidentally crashing into it. An incident that would almost certainly cause some problems if it occurred. 

It’s currently one-forty in the afternoon, which means he’s got a bit over two hours to kill before he finds these misplaced soldiers. He supposes the best thing to do it try and find the street where they supposedly arrive. His phone, albeit out of place in these pre-iPhone days, has the uploaded feeds from Gideon. He starts by observing any recognisable landmarks in the street. 

Flicking through the different camera angles provides some insight. There are a few bars, he recognises the name of one that sells some good whiskey, but there’s also some other restaurants and stores. What helps him recognise the address the most for him, is the records store just a few buildings down from the whiskey place.

The location clicks in his head and after typing in the address into his phone, he gets a rough set of a direction. It’ll take him over an hour to cover the distance by foot, which is hardly a fuss in his opinion. Maybe it’ll be enough time for him to figure out what’s bothering him, or give him enough time to find something to distract him from it. He doesn’t care either way. 

Mick sets off on his journey, grabbing nothing but his phone as he walks over to the stairwell and pushes the door open and begins his descent to ground level. Foot traffic is light on this side of the building, but the canal is also just a few buildings over, and that tends to be a bit busier. It’s not until he approaches the West Loop Gate where he decides to shift over and walk alongside the canal. The bridges are pretty similar. Work has obviously been done to them in his present time, but they still look nice. 

But walking alongside the water only goes so far, and as he should have expected, construction was currently underway, and he had to move back to the main road and continue from there on. It wasn’t until he approached a set of traffic lights when he remembered something, not the thing nagging him, but something else. Just a week from now, the massive blackout of two-thousand and three was meant to occur, plunging the Northeast of America in darkness.

Mick remembers because he had just exited a pub and was about to cross the street when all the power cut, leaving him standing at a set of traffic lights waiting to cross. But he was on the other side of the canal when it happened. But it made him wonder. Why was he in Chicago in the first place again?

He pushes the thought back and continues the trek along the footpath towards his destination. He’s trying to figure out how to handle these soldiers. He could knock them out, but then he’d have to drag multiple bodies around with him and that’s not really comfortable on his arms. He could just fly his ship and scoop them in one swift motion, but considering he’d have to disengage the cloak momentarily, he didn’t want people to associate an abduction in a flying vessel with the massive blackout just a few days later. That’s one way of turning a simple level one anachronism into a level four at least. 

So that leaves another option. He could always pretend to be a member of the army and convince the soldiers to just follow him calmly back to the ship. Simple enough. There is probably a costume store not too far away, or if he’s really fussed, he’ll just head back to his ship and fabricate one. He pauses for a moment, considers turning back, but decides not to. He hasn’t stolen anything in a while, so why not steal a WWII uniform if he can find one. 

His plan adjusts slightly on the way to the nearest costume store. Stealing someone’s bag along the way, an idiot who left it unattended by a lamp post, Mick finds a costume store and walks inside. 

“Can I help you sir?” an old man walks up behind Mick, the sound of his cane giving away his presence early. 

Mick turns around and looks at the old man. There’s a flash of something across the old man’s face, something Mick can’t describe, but is akin to shock in some way. 

“You kay old man?” Mick asks, examining the old man briefly and thinking for a moment that he’s gone and had a heart attack. 

He shakes his head briefly, but Mick can’t help but feels he’s being looked at in fascination “My apologies, you just reminded me of someone from my youth. Anyway, were you looking for something in particular?”

Mick turns back around to the racks of clothes, “Something military,” he coughs awkwardly, “It’s for uh, airsoft. World War Two themed.”  
The pyro doesn’t catch the grin on the old man’s face, “Ah, well I think I might have something for you. Come this way.”

Towards the back of the store is a small set of rooms, something which looks like an office, next to a very compact bedroom. But compact doesn’t mean spartan. In fact, there are many decorations hanging around this small room. A tiny desk with some old books and a lamp, a fan beside the bed among other things. 

Mick is led towards a chest on a bench. Trunk more accurately, but the design on the box is made to look like a typical treasure chest. The locks are flipped open and inside sits neatly stacked WWII uniform and equipment. An ancient looking bolt-action rifle is underneath the pile of clothing and the damaged helmet. 

“This was my old uniform from the war,” the old man says, “Been with me since the day I was enlisted.”  
Mick hums in acknowledgement, “Well, um, I just need something for one day so if you could just-”

“Take it, please,” the old man insists for reasons Mick is unclear of, “I don’t care if you wear it for one day, but this old thing won’t be of any use to me. I see something within you, were you former military yourself?”

Mick shakes his head, looking away from the old man and back to the box, “No. My uh, my father was. ‘Nam war. Marine.”  
The man nods and smiles, “Ah well, I was close. I insist, please. You’ll find more use out of them than I ever will these days. And maybe someday, you’ll find someone worthy to pass them on to as well.”

Mick stares at the side of the old man’s face. He doesn’t know what’s going on exactly, and why this old man seems so eager to give him his bloody uniform. Doesn’t he realise that Mick wanted to steal this thing! Not be given it for free! 

But it’s a uniform, and while he has no intention of wearing the damn thing because he sure as hell doesn’t feel worthy enough to do so, he can stuff it in the bag and use it convince the soldiers he’s one of them. The weapon and helmet will add to the authenticity of it. 

“Uh, thanks,” Mick is at a loss for words, reaching into the trunk and pulling out of the helmet and old rifle. 

The strap for the gun slings over his shoulder comfortably, and just as he’s about to stuff the uniform into the stolen backpack, the old man pulls out his own army bag and begins placing the uniform inside it. Mick takes a deep breath in, trying to stop his mind from thinking about whatever the fuck is happening to him right because he sure as hell doesn’t get any of it. 

A minute later, and the old man leads Mick, who has a rifle slung over his shoulders, a bag with the uniform on his back, and the helmet tucked underneath his arm, towards the door. 

“I didn’t catch your name,” the old man says, moments before Mick steps outside.  
The pyro turns his head over his shoulder, “Mick,” he’s not about to ask the old man for their name, but it seems he’ll get it anyway.  
“Michaelson,” the old man says, “Well, goodbye Mick.”  
“See yah,” Mick grunts as he pushes open the door and swiftly returns to the street. 

His walking pace is brisk as he tries to put distance between himself and the store. Something about the old man was off, yet no part of Mick thinks there was hostility in the guy’s intentions. Just something super weird about the entire thing. 

As Mick continues to walk through the streets of Chicago, heading towards the location of the anachronism, he decides he needs to make up for not being able to steal the uniform. But he doesn’t know how. Stealing random wallets doesn’t feel like a trophy as much as it used it, and there’s not a lot in 2003 that Mick wants or doesn’t already have. Whatever. Money is money, so Mick pilfers some anyway. 

Mick arrives at the scene and takes a look around. He’s got less than an hour now since his detour near the canal and the stop off for the costume, but it’s still plenty of time to kill. There’s an alley he’s already identified for later, where he can easily guide the soldiers into and get them under control before leading them back through the city towards his ship. 

Once his plan is decided, he walks into a bar. The owner gives him a curious look due to the items in Mick’s possessions as the pyro approaches the bar. 

“What’s with the getup?” the bartender asks as Mick takes a seat on a stool.  
Mick glances at the gear in his possession and quickly comes up with a story, “Airsoft. It’s thematic. Got a couple of mates coming by in about an hour too.”  
The bar shows no sign of disbelief, in-fact, he sounds interested, “Sounds fun, what can I get you?”

Mick asks for a couple rounds of drinks and that’s about the last time he speaks to anyone for the next fifty minutes while he waits. The drinks aren’t doing much to him. It’s a weird mind over matter thing where his mind is resisting the effects because it knows of the necessity to stay focused for this mission. No need to mess the entire thing up just because Mick couldn’t handle his liquor. 

He discretely checks his phone and the camera footage. A weird thing about Gideon’s system is the way she is able to remember both timelines, before and after the anachronism, and now he wonders if the third instance of this event will occur and she’ll see his interference in things. He supposes she would. 

It’s a few minutes until action time, so Mick hands over all of the pilfered money to the bartender and exits the bar, shaking his head to remove the dizziness. Which in retrospect doesn’t help, but Mick carries on anyway. He crosses the road and walks over to the entrance of the alleyway and waits. 

Slipping the helmet on his head, ignoring the distaste in his mouth at the thought of the old man’s words. Worthy my ass, Mick thinks. The guy wouldn’t be saying that if he had a clue as to who he actually was. 

Everything is going along calmly, cars driving, people walking, giving curious looks at Mick in the helmet, carrying the bag containing the uniform, and the old bolt-action behind his back. Then things stop going calmly. A flash of white in the middle of the footpath requires Mick to look away as to prevent going blind, and when he looks back, four soldiers appear. 

A mixture of different emotions is being expressed by the new arrivals, as well as the citizens who just witnessed what they would try to describe as magic. 

“What the hell just happened?” one of the soldiers barks out, clearly the leader of the group based on the insignia on his helmet, which if Mick isn’t mistaken, is a few ranks below the one Mick is currently wearing. 

Mick puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly in their direction. Four sets of eyes turn to look at him, and one of them looks ready to train his weapon on him before another sees the helmet and stops him. 

A silent gesture of the head beckons them over to the alley, and cautiously, they approach. 

“Sir,” the leader salutes upon seeing the rank on the helmet, “What just happened? Where are we?”  
“What’s the last thing you remember soldier?” Mick orders from them.  
The leader slings his weapon over his shoulder and stands straight, “My men and I were under orders to flank the Japs in the jungle. It was us and three other squads, but we got separated and then this flash of white light appears and here we are,” the soldier peers out of the alley and takes a look around, “But where exactly are we sir?”

Mick ushers them further into the alley, “This isn’t the war anymore. Like you, I came through a white light and reappeared elsewhere, but for me, that was a decade ago.”  
There’s a gasp from one of the other soldiers, “A decade sir? How?”  
Mick shrugs, “I am unsure. But I can tell you where we are now. Chicago, Illinois, two-thousand and three.”

“Two-thousand and three?” exclaims one of the soldiers.  
The leader of the group looks shocked, but there’s disbelief in his expression, “I don’t believe it. How do we know this isn’t some new kind of battle tactic by the enemy?”

Mick swings his bag around and opens up the zipper to show the uniform, “I’m one of you. I was among the group at the Solomon Islands, but something dragged me through time and I reappeared in nineteen-ninety-three.”

Fortunately, Mick’s knowledge of the war and the authenticity of his gear and uniform are enough to persuade the soldiers they can trust him. 

“Sir?” a young man, must be twenty at most, “are you saying time travel is real?”  
Mick nods, “Look out there son, this look like something you’d see back in forty-two?”

The four soldiers all take a moment to stick their heads out of the alley and take a look around. People give them curious looks, but none actually make a fuss about them. The soldiers are probably too in awe to even care about the people looking at them. Cars, signs, and in the sky, a plane flies across the city towards the Midway airport. 

Mick drags them back into the alley, “Look. I’ve been stuck here long enough, and I’ve spent the last decade learning about how to bring me back to the exact moment I left, and I think I figured it out.”  
“You know how to back to the war?” the leader asks with anticipation.  
Mick nods, “Yes. It’s just an hour’s walk if we go quickly, then we can head back home.”

Once they all agree, Mick takes a huge sigh of relief. Holy crap. He did not expect to be playing impromptu WWII soldier today, but here he is. 

With relative simplicity, they easily make the trek back to the ship. Mick kept conversation to a minimum, knowing that it’s basically pointless anyway since he’ll have to wipe their memories and throw them back into the war. But a part of him enjoys seeing the intrigue and curiosity on their faces as they walk through the city. As they get closer and closer to the West Loop Gate and the buildings get larger and larger, he can tell the soldiers are excited. It’s almost a shame he has to cut it short. 

He leads them up the stairwell to the roof of the carpark, taking a look around, he makes sure no one got through the barrier. Fortunately, no one did. 

“Sir? Where are we?” one of the soldiers asked.  
Mick turns around with a grin, “You thought appearing here was crazy, just you wait.”

There’s a shimmer as the entrance to Pendulum is opened, and Mick can hear the surprised reactions behind him. 

“What in the bloody hell is this thing?” they ask upon entering the vessel and taking a look around the corridor.  
“It’s a long story,” Mick grunts as he settles his gear on the floor by the entrance, “But this is how you get home.”

He leads them to bridge when suddenly that nagging feeling returns in his head, and the answer to his question is answered. 

“I have to go,” Mick bursts out, “I promise I’ll get you back to the war, but there’s something I need to do here first before I leave.”

He’s grateful that they’re obedient soldiers, and ones who are far too interested in the panels and fancy lights to ask him for specifics. Mick rushes out of the ship, ordering Gilbert to not accept any commands until he gets back as to prevent the soldiers from accidentally doing something they shouldn’t. 

Mick takes off in a sprint, something he doesn’t usually do, but when he saw the time which said it was close to five-thirty, he knew he needed to go fast. 

Instead of going west like he went to pick up the soldiers, Mick crossed the bridge and headed East towards Buckingham Fountain. That’s not his target, but his real target is on the way. It’s a fucking big coincidence this whole thing, especially now. 

The run takes him over fifteen minutes, but he’s here, outside the bank. There’s an alley behind it, but it’s too dangerous to walk directly into it, so he finds a way up higher where he can look down into the alley. There’s just a few minutes before six, the sun is almost gone by this point and it’s just a matter of time before what Mick is waiting for arrives. 

He can’t believe he forgot it for so long. 

A few minutes pass, and a van turns into the alley. Mick is hidden from view, the shadows and dim light helping, allowing him to just sit and watch. 

The door slides open, and he smirks as he sees himself jump out of the van. 

XXX

*August 4th 2003*

“Remember, stick to the plan.”  
“Got it, boss,” Mick’s feet make a hard thud as they land heavily on the ground outside the van. 

Closing the door behind him, Mick waits until another set of footsteps comes up beside him. With the van parked in the alley, just shy of the security camera keeping watch on the back door of the bank, Leonard and Mick walk casually back out into the street and around to the front of the bank. 

They stand against the railings of the stairs for a minute, Leonard scouting for their target before they walk in. It’s a large open floor building, with numerous desks and side rooms along the walls. Towards the back, behind the tellers, is the vault and the guarded hallway leading to the back exit, which can only be opened from the inside anyway. 

Leonard’s nod is subtle and barely noticeable as he peels off and takes a seat at one of the chairs. Mick goes over to the water fountain and pours himself a cup of water. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Leonard slip the gun into the target’s jacket, which is hanging over the side of their chair, beside Leonard. 

Two targets are present for this heist. The bank as their primary, because there are some valuables they wish to withdraw. And the man beside Leonard as their secondary. A man who pissed Leonard off a few months ago. He’s not that important, but he’s a shitty guy and Leonard has no problem with setting him up and framing him. Kill two birds with one bank heist or something like that. 

Leonard heads off towards the tellers. He created an account here under a pretty crafty false ID, so there’s a deposit box in the bottom of the vault that’s waiting for him. He waits in the queue for a few minutes before asking to be taken down to his box, sending a discrete signal for Mick to go ahead with the plan. 

Their target stands up from their chair and is slowly making his way across the floor to one of the side offices, when Mick cuts across the front of him, in a way that results in making it look like Mick was just barged. 

“Hey watch it!” Mick growls as he glares at the man, eyes darting to see the raised attention of some guards.  
“Watch where the fuck you’re going pal,” the man snaps back, anger immediately laced in his voice. 

Mick snarls and continues walking off, making a dramatic gesture of patting his pockets, “Hey. Where’s my phone?” Mick turns back to the man, “Did you just steal my fucking phone?”  
The man has a look of disgust and repulsion on his face at Mick’s scene, “Fuck off I’d steal your phone.”

A guard approaches them, “Excuse me, what appears to be the problem here?”  
Mick keeps the angered act up, “This fucker just stole my phone after barging into me.”

The man laughs, “I did not fucking steal your phone, you lying piece of shit-”  
The guard is clearly unimpressed and turns to Mick, “What’s your number sir?”

Mick recites the number of the burner phone and crosses his arm as he glares at the man. A few seconds after the guard finishes typing the number in, the phone starts ringing. Except instead of being in Mick’s possession, it is now in the pants of the man. 

“Sir,” the guard doesn’t look pleased, “I’m gonna have to ask you to empty your pockets please.”  
The man is stuttering in shock as his hand slides down his side and into his pocket, feeling the vibrating phone, “This is a mistake. I did not steal this brute’s phone.”

“Hey!” growls Mick, “Watch it, and give me my fucking phone back.”  
The guard raises a calm hand in Mick’s direction, “Please relax sir,” he turns back to the target, “Give me the phone now.”

The man scoffs before laughing, “Oh good one. You got me good,” he hands the phone over to the guard, “Yes. Congratulations. Very clever trick you pulled off mister. Ok. I’m leaving.”

He attempts to walk away, but more guards have come to check out the scene, one of them halting the man from leaving. He tries to budge through, but they make it clear he’s now allowed to leave until they say so and this situation is cleared up. 

One of them demands the man to hand over his possessions for inspection, including the jacket folded over his arms. Mick is enjoying the sight but keeps the necessary pissed off expression as he watches the guards start searching the man. 

Within seconds, the hidden gun is found, and the man is restrained by two guards. More guards have come around to provide assistance, especially now that the sight of a gun has been detected. 

The guard who was holding onto the phone passes it to Mick, “Sorry for the trouble sir. Do you know if you saw any other suspicious activity involving this man?”

The man in question is currently being cuffed and trying to plead his innocence, but is being ignored by the guards. 

Mick plays it dumb, as if he’s slightly mortified by the presence of the gun, “I um, I, I think there a vehicle out front that I saw circle the block a few times as I was walking here. It may have been nothing, but I’m not sure.”

The guard nods and brings the walkie up to his mouth and starts issuing out orders to be on the lookout for suspicious vehicles around the front of the bank. Damn, Leonard was a genius for coming up with this plan. They were going to score big time on this. 

Speaking of Leonard, the thief was currently in the vault examining the contents of his safety deposit box when the attendant entered the room, expected on Leonard’s behalf. The thief was warned that there was a scene upstairs and that it would be best to remain down here while the staff member goes back. 

Leonard thanked the man and waited until he vanished behind the curtain and walked off. Once it was clear, Leonard retrieved his fancy lock-picking tools and approached the wall of safety deposit boxes. There were numerous numbers in a list he had memorised, and he pulled them all out of the wall and onto the table in the middle of the room. 

His internal clock was counting down the seconds until someone would come back for him, which gave him approximately half a minute, so Leonard had to work quickly. These things were pieces of cake honestly. One of the keys he had already cloned after finding the house of the owner and seconds later, the fancy jewellery was being stuffed into a sack. 

Leonard worked on the other boxes, cracking them with remarkable ease and emptied parts of their content, leaving some it behind. It’s harder to fence off many different items, but the smaller and more valuable items are easier to sell off. 

With plenty of time to spare, relative to how long it could have taken, Leonard had put all the boxes back in the wall, stuffing the now filled bag into his jacket, and emptying his box of lock-picking tools in his pocket. He exited the vault, glancing at the cash on the shelves, but opting to pass on it today and instead diverting to the exit. An exit which is now relieved of guards who relocated upstairs to handle the situation. 

The panel by the door is easily breakable, and Leonard manages to block the signal from the outside security camera from this panel and allow himself to walk out with ease. The alleyway is dark and faintly lit by some lights from the bank and the opposite building. 

Mick is already in the van waiting, fingers drumming on the steering wheel by the time Leonard hops in. 

“All good boss?” Mick asks.  
Leonard pulls the bag out of his jacket and gives it a little shake to let Mick hear, “That sound good?” it’s a rhetorical question, “How about our secondary objective?”  
“Currently being taken into custody as we speak,” Mick says as he reverses the van down the alley and brings them out to the road.  
“We’ve earned ourselves a drink Mick,” Leonard pats his partner on the back and buckles himself in.

XXX

Mick grins as he watches the van pull away. Now that’s how a Chicago heist goes down. Not like their pitiful attempt to recreate the same kind of diversion when they were targeting Savage in Casnia and almost got Rip killed. Not saying that getting Rip almost killed was a bad thing, Mick surely wouldn’t mind, but the execution wasn’t great and ultimately a letdown.

Mick returns to his ship and finds the soldiers have finally settled in, although he can see them wanting to ask questions. Gilbert engages flight protocols and takes off into the sky, piercing through the clouds before slipping into the time stream and targeting August twelve, nineteen-forty-two. 

The soldiers are lost for words at everything, seeing the unintelligible data scroll across the many panels, the green time stream swirl outside the bridge. They don’t mind that it takes a fair time to reach their destination because they’re all so fascinated, and this only continues to make it harder for Mick to not want to wipe their memories. 

They break through the time stream, cloak engaged as they start approaching the jungles of Guadalcanal. Gilbert has been running scans in the background for the exact minute the anachronism took them from the war, and they’ve arrived just a minute later to avoid any accidental catastrophes. 

“You’re not really a soldier, are you?” the leader of the group approaches Mick’s chair as he pilots them towards the ground.  
Mick glances over at him, “Did the Time Ship give it away?”  
The leader chuckles, “Maybe. But you had me convinced. That’s an authentic uniform, and I’ve got a similar bolt-action too. So if you’re not from the military, where’d you get it.”

Mick grunts, “Costume store actually. Old man handed it to me for free,” he sets the ship down and turns to the leader, “Look, I’m gonna have to wipe your memories now. Nothing personal, it’s just my job to make sure time doesn’t fuck itself.”

“Time travel,” the leader looks out the window to see the jungle canopy, “It doesn’t feel real, and we’ve literally just gone through sixty years of history to get back here.”

There’s a part of Mick that wishes there was still some ignorance of time travel in his life. It’s not possible anymore, not with the years on this team and the centuries as Chronos. But he can’t help but imagine being like this soldier, before the anachronism took him. Where time travel was a thing of fiction and far from reality. 

The leader turns to his men, explaining the situation and what they are going to do. They’re saddened about the fact they need to have their memories wiped. Mick doesn’t have the flashy mind wipe device on him, so he orders Gilbert to make the pills and collects them from the medical bay. 

He hands one each to the men and they all look at cautiously. 

“I know I’m going to forget it in a matter of seconds now,” the leader holds the pill in his hand, “But I didn’t catch your name.”  
Mick raises an eyebrow at him and looks at him sceptically, “Mick.”  
“Michaelson. Sergeant Michaelson,” the squad leader responds. 

Oh, is the only thought that goes through Mick’s head right now. That uniform. That helmet. The rifle. Either it’s the biggest fucking coincidence, or this is actually him. Worthy. That word repeats in Mick’s head over and over again. Time is twisted works in mysterious ways, and clearly, that’s no different in this case. 

“Alright stop,” Mick growls, “Drop the pills and leave.”  
“Something wrong?” Michaelson looks at Mick with a slight trace of fear in his expression.  
Mick slams his fist on the panel to the ship and opens the ramp, “Keep your mouths shut about what you saw today alright. Nobody will believe you anyway and you’ll be sent to the looney bin if you try to convince people otherwise.”

The three other soldiers look grateful and sling their packs over their shoulders and exit the ramp, leaving Michaelson with Mick. 

“Thank you,” Michaelson sticks out a hand.  
Mick takes it and gives it a brief shake, his face trying to keep expressionless and uncaring, “Just don’t get yourself shot, or this will all be for nothing.”

Michaelson smirks and takes off down the ramp to join his squad members. For maybe two seconds, Mick just idly watches as the soldiers disappear into the dense forest, before snapping himself out it and slamming the panel for the ramp to close shut. 

Too many fucking emotions today. He’s actually going to be sick if he experiences any more. Sick to the point where he’d rather blow his head off than keep feeling them. Things were simpler back with Snart, where the only thing to feel was the rush of the heist and the pleasure of the flame after a successful mission. And maybe the taste of alcohol, but that’s almost become his natural state at this point, so he doesn’t count it.

“Get us back in the time stream,” Mick orders as he walks through the ship. 

The ship underneath his feet begins vibrating and he feels it take off and autopilot itself into the air before splitting apart reality and jumping into the time stream. He looks down at his wrist and sees the time courier. 

What he wouldn’t do to be back in his room, maybe writing. May as well put these feelings into something productive. 

But just as Mick goes to activate the courier, the ship is plunged into darkness, and suddenly he’s weightless and crashing straight into a wall.

XXX

He still doesn’t know. 

Why won’t he just kill Leonard and be done with everything? Leave the rest of the team and get a head start on the Hunters. It’d be simple, and give him plenty of time to mask his signature while he hides. 

But he doesn’t. Probably for the same reasons he allowed the team to stop him as Chronos multiple times. Because even after everything, they’re the only people he won’t really kill. His anger isn’t directed at them. Not really. It’s at himself. But he still has no problem getting payback against Rip in particular. 

“Were you really coming back?” Mick asks, breaking the silence in the room. 

Leonard had moved only barely. Enough to get close enough to the other side of the brig’s wall and use it to prop himself up. Blood continued to spill at a slow rate from the cuts across his face. 

At least he looked worse than Mick. Although the concussion was definitely coming into effect right now, making things slightly dizzy on his end. And the ribs were such a fucking pain right now. But neither of them was in the mood to go and sort it out and leave. 

“Of course I was coming back,” Leonard replies, he tries to make it sound like it was a stupid question to ask. 

It was in retrospect, because Leonard had already tried to convince him, but Mick wasn’t in the right frame of mind to listen to his words back then. 

“You were dangerous, and I couldn’t continue helping the team while dealing with you too,” Leonard tries to justify, “But I would have come back once we were done.”  
“I was so angry, fuelled with rage at Rip,” Mick says, eyes drifting to the door of the brig which is ajar.  
Leonard groans and squeezes his eyes shut in pain as he shifts slightly, “Rip set you off?”

It’s partially true, “More like tipped me over the edge. The entire week was getting to me and even if the Acheron didn’t happen, chances are I’d still have snapped eventually.”  
“Wait, wait,” Leonard opens his eyes and looks over to Mick, “What did the captain do?”

The defeated drawl from a few minutes ago was gone and instead replaced with what sounds like actual concern and interest. 

Mick examines the other man. He doesn’t know what to call him. He’s no longer an opponent. No longer his mission. Definitely not his partner or friend. Just, a man on the other side of the room right now. It’s the best description he has. 

“That I was never intended for this mission. More specifically, never wanted. The captain just wanted you, but there was only one suitable time to remove you from the timeline,” Mick begins.  
“But I never would have left without you coming with me,” Leonard guesses.  
Mick sighs and nods, “Yeah, so Hunter compromised, and decided he’d put up with me as long as he got your smarts. A package deal,” his disgusted tone as he remembers Hunter’s words.

Leonard growled, and Mick could tell there was a forming ferocity in his tone, “Think I’m gonna have a little chat with our captain when I get out of here.”  
“What’s done is done,” Mick waved a dismissive hand, regretting it as the pain burst through his rib, “No point in going after him now,” someone else is already coming after them anyway. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Leonard responds, exhaustion ripe in his voice, “We are a package deal. He has a problem with one of us, he has a problem with both of us. And now I’m gonna kick his little ass,” Leonard’s laugh is full of pain and doesn’t sound anywhere near as humorous as he wanted it to be, “But I think I’ll wait a bit first.”

Silence returns between the two men in the brig, and Mick tries to perform a mental check on his current condition. Ribs still aching like hell? Check. Brain still forming a concussion? Check. Well, nothing has changed there. 

He looks down at his hands, the hands covered in the other man’s blood. Then he looks at the other man’s face and compares the two images. 

“How’re you feeling?” Mick asks, his voice quiet and tired.  
Leonard leans his head against the glass wall, unable to properly sit up, “Like I deserved it.”  
Mick shakes his head at the sight of his friend, “No you don’t. You’ve only been trying to look out for me.”

“And look how that turned out,” there’s a weak cough amongst the drawl, “Got you kidnapped by the Time Bastards. I should have done things differently.”  
“I didn’t give you much choice,” Mick contests, “And it’s not like talking about our problems was ever going to happen.”

There’s a long exhale from Leonard, “Maybe we should try working on that sometime. Don’t think I can take another beating like that next time we fight.”

Mick groans as he grabs the beam between the glass to hoist himself up off the ground, “Come on,” he crosses over to stand in front of Leonard, “Let’s get you to the medbay.”

He resists initially, claiming something about putting up with it. Mick knows he’s being stubborn, wanting to hold onto that Leonard Snart bravado. Leonard feels light as air as he pulls him off the ground and wraps an arm under his shoulders to keep him supported. 

They’re silent for a few seconds until Leonard speaks, “Thanks.”

Mick doesn’t respond. Just nods and begins guiding himself and Leonard through the Waverider towards the medbay. The concussion makes it difficult, causing him to stumble a few times, and that only aggravates the damage to his ribs. They reach the medbay in due time, Mick helping Leonard onto one of the chairs before getting into one himself. Blue light washes over the two of them, and he sees the start of the automated medical process begin on the other man. 

He waits for it begin on him, but it’s a bit slow. Maybe it’s trying to analyse the concussion first. 

“So you and blondie?” Mick breaks the silence again.  
Leonard’s laugh is still weak and hinting with pain, “Nothing quite like almost freezing to death to start forming bonds.”  
“Didn’t think forming bonds was really your thing. Thought you said connections like that were dangerous,” Mick continues.  
“Yeah,” Leonard drawls, “Because I’m the leading expert on romance and the dangers of a broken heart,” maybe Gideon gave him a bit too much sarcasm in the medicine.

“Still, everything in life is about deciding whether it’s worth it,” Leonard continues, “I guess I figured it worth it. To try at least,” Leonard turns his head to look at Mick, “But at least I tried. Can’t say the same about you and Amaya.”

For a fraction of a second, Mick lost focus on Snart, a possible result of the concussion, but Mick’s not sure. He feels a bit cold now, though that’s probably the medical bed underneath him going through the fabric of his shirt. Concentrating allows him to refocus on Snart and room around them, which a thought in the back of his mind tells him is slightly off. 

Mick and Amaya. Even Mick wasn’t sure how to describe whatever was going on with them back then. Leonard’s right though. At least the cold thief tried with Sara. Mick, on the other hand, wasn’t able to get through the cowardice of doing anything about it. Chicago, sure, was a great opportunity for Mick and Amaya to bond, in a way that Mick is comfortable with, but everything before and after that was out of Mick’s comfort territory. 

“She tried to care for you, Mick. The signs were there, but you pushed her away,” Leonard speaks. 

“We don’t do feelings. I bet you pushed blondie away too,” Mick retorts.  
Leonard rocks his head and smirks, “Well, you’re not wrong there. Not, my brightest moment I must say.”  
“Besides, she was into Pretty,” Mick counters. 

Leonard doesn’t seem convinced, “Was she? Cause to me, it seemed like she only took interest in the new guy until after you stonewalled her after Chicago,” he emphasised, “What was it about calling you, not-a-bad-guy, that had you push her away?”

Leonard’s wrong. He’s got it so wrong, but he doesn’t blame him. How is he supposed to know any of what Mick’s done as Chronos? Every atrocious act, every brutal and ruthless kill that he’s performed. It’s a kill count that put Sara’s to shame, but one he doesn’t reveal or discuss with anyone. Sure, he’s recently gone and told Amaya about the fact he was Chronos, but he’s never told anyone about what it was truly like, being Chronos. 

“You don’t do yourself any favours Mick,” Leonard’s drawl breaks through the concentration, “Trying to be the bad guy, especially with this crowd. It doesn’t last. Boyscout’s insufferable positivity eventually gets to you and makes you see some value in being good.”  
“Enough value to blow yourself up?” Mick counters.  
Leonard shrugs, “Well you couldn’t let Boyscout go and do it, and I couldn’t let you go and do it-”

“Well maybe you should have!” Mick yells, wincing as his head throbs and his ribs ache. 

Everything around him shifts briefly, losing focus on Leonard. He feels like he’s in the medbay, but also not in the medbay. He’s not sure, and eventually, the dizziness fades and he’s looking back at Leonard. 

Mick settles down and softens his tone, “Maybe you should have. The one real piece of revenge I desired. A way I could really get back at the Time Bastards for what they did.”

“Why do you think you deserved to die? Why do you think you don’t deserve to be cared about and feel the need to push everyone away?” Leonard’s voice is firm, and Mick can tell he expects a response. 

“I lived centuries Snart,” Mick begins, “Centuries, and in none of those, did I ever do any real good. It was all violence, slaughter and anger. I was a perfect weapon for the Time Master. They point, and I shoot, regardless of who it is. Just to satisfy their needs and want, all in the name of protecting the timeline.”

Mick shifts as he feels something course through him, something he thinks is the medicine or a painkiller at least, “Did you know the Time Masters weren’t the only one? There were other groups, before the Bureau that is, that tried to have some sort of control over the timeline. Across multiple Earths, I was sent to eliminate all those that opposed the Time Masters. That refugee camp, the one that Savage’s giant robot flattened, you remember it? Well imagine hundreds of those families, but it’s my boot instead of a giant robot.”

Mick doesn’t know why he’s saying any of this. But something about being with Snart, almost killing his once best friend, almost manages to bring down his entire mental defences and spill everything to Snart.

“I should have died on the Oculus. Not you,” Mick looks over at Snart, "I should have been the one to take them all down."  
Leonard sits up in his seat, tugging off the automated system, “Hate to break it you Mick, but I think you’re going to die here anyway.”

Huh?

Mick looks down at his chest, placing his hand on his ribs, ignoring the coldness seeping through him, “You didn’t hit me that hard.”

Mick mentally replayed the fight. Leonard walks in. Says that if Mick kills him, he can leave and walk out. Leonard gets two punches in, one across the head which is causing the concussion, and the one to the chest, which is the source of the rib pain.

“You’re sort of right,” Leonard drawls, cocking his head to the side as he looks over at Mick, “If you actually remember the fight correctly though, you’ll know I only got one punch in on your face before you had to the ground. And even then, we both know you allowed it to happen to get yourself riled up.”

There are conflicting memories playing in Mick’s head. He’s seeing both fights at the same time. But he can’t tell the difference or what either of them means. Mick does not even realise the reality of the conversation he is having with Leonard right now. No part of him questions the fact that they are talking about Leonard’s death, or Amaya, and it goes over Mick’s head unnoticed. 

“Then where did the injuries come from?” Mick asks. 

Leonard gestures around the room, “Take a look.”

Everything blurs out of focus for a second before rushing back, and Mick’s entire world has just changed on him. This isn’t the Waverider’s medical bay. This is the Pendulum’s. What the hell? There’s also almost no light whatsoever except for a small gas lamp sitting between himself and Snart. Its flame is large and bright enough that it provides relatively useful illumination around it. 

“How did we get here?” Mick asks, groaning as he tries to sit up.  
Leonard sighs at him, “We’ve always been here Mick. Been here since you flew those army boys back to the war.”

Mick shakes his head. This isn’t right. None of this is. He remembers clearly the whole thing in Chicago, pretending to a high-ranking officer and guiding the men through the city back to his ship. He remembers flying them to the war and ultimately deciding not to wipe their memories. Michaelson. But if it’s that’s real, then how is Snart here?

A searing pain strikes through Mick’s head, and when the blurriness fades, he sees himself back on the Waverider. 

“How did we get here?” Mick asks again but doesn't realise it.  
Leonard squints at him, unsure if he’s being serious, “You beat me up and carried me here. Suppose I should be grateful for not finishing me off.”  
Mick shakes his head, “No, I mean, you and me, fighting it out in the brig. We did we let things come to that?

“Ah,” Leonard’s expression changes as he realises Mick’s intended question, “Well, I guess it started out with me not treating you right. Knocking you out and taking you away from twenty-forty-six. You had every right to be mad. I was dragging you around like a dog while I wanted to go and play time traveller.”

“We should have talked things through,” Mick responds. 

“But we don’t,” Leonard chips in, “We never have, and we never do. Up until my death, I never talked about my feelings, not to you at least. And neither do you. We just bottle it up inside, and when someone wants us to talk about it, we push them away. It makes it hard for people to stop treating us like criminals when we spend so much of our time forcing ourselves to act like them."

“It’s no wonder you betrayed the team and sided with younger me for the Spear of Destiny,” Leonard continues, “You never trusted anyone to talk to about your problems, except Stein with the hallucinations, but regardless, the team didn’t trust you back.”

“What are you getting at Snart?” Mick growls in response.

Leonard floats out of the chair, weightless as if in zero gravity and lifts a singular finger, “Hold that thought. Just want to bring your attention to a more pressing matter.”

The world shifts around Mick within a single blink, and suddenly he’s back in the Pendulum’s medical bay. And this time it doesn’t go away when he blinks again. He tries to do something, anything, but realises that he’s strapped to the medical bed. Had he done this? Why?

He figures out the answer to the latter when he feels a lack of gravity holding him to the bed and he’s pressed against the straps before coasting back down, if down is even a thing now.

“What happened?” Mick asks, and for the first time in a while, there’s panic in his voice.  
Leonard looks at him curiously, “Must be the concussion,” he observes with a drawl, “There was an EMP that went off. You’d just entered the time stream and about to use your time courier to get back to the Waverider when the pulse went off. Disabled your entire ship, which includes the time drive, the thrusters, and the gravity generator.”

Mick tries to hastily get himself out of the straps, but groans in pain as he remembers his ribs. 

“Oh yeah, you hit the wall pretty hard on the initial deceleration,” Leonard continues as he hovers over to Mick.  
“Why am I in the medbay?” Mick asks, looking around before going at the straps again and failing.  
Leonard swings himself around the bed to the other side of Mick, “You tried to get yourself to here before you passed out, which you did, barely.”

“I must have forgotten,” Mick lifts his hand to his head.  
Leonard’s face looks like it’s contemplating something, “Well, if we want to be scientific here, it’s not that you forgot, it’s that you didn’t remember.”  
Mick looks at Snart confused, “Huh? That’s the same thing.”

Leonard shakes his head with a grin, “No it’s not. You know this because you learnt it as Chronos. Think of memories like a recording device. You didn’t forget Mick; your brain just didn’t hit record because it was unable to. That’s the difference.”

Mick considers it for a moment, then realises the truth in the statement. It was something he was all too familiar with, considering how frequent Mick’s drinking habits were, especially before joining the Waverider. A bar here, a club there, drinking until he’s blackout drunk and unable to remember anything about the night before. 

Sure, alcohol consumption as his frequency doesn’t do any wonders for his brain’s health and functioning in general, but it was slightly interesting to learn that blackout drunk meant that the part of his brain that tries to form memories, simply is unable to while in that state. 

And now he’s getting distracted again. Mick presses his hand against his chest and feels around the ribs. Able to focus briefly for the moment, he’s able to assess that his ribs are indeed broken, and considering the growing difficulty in his breathing, might have done something to a lung. He’s unable to specifically tell, but the pain is a sure giveaway. 

Mick groans, readjusting himself in the straps so it no longer feels like the straps are crushing his ribcage. 

“I think I nicked a lung with my rib, but I don’t think it will kill me, not for a few hours I think,” Mick assesses.  
Leonard shrugs contently, “That may be true, but you’ll probably asphyxiate or freeze to death first. Although there’s an air tank in there,” he gestures with his thumb to the cabinet, “so maybe the cold is your biggest threat.”

Mick looks at Snart dumbfoundedly, unsure of the point his old partner is talking about. 

Leonard looks at Mick expectantly, “You know? Your entire ship is disabled. That includes the life support, which handles the temperature and the circulation of oxygen.”

Crap. That’s a big problem. 

“I have enough time,” Mick relaxes into the bed.  
Leonard raises an eyebrow, “Enough time for what?” his drawl sounding like a challenge  
“Enough time that someone will come and rescue me before it’s too late,” Mick casually explains, "Boyscout, the Captain, someone will find me."

Leonard makes a disapproving clicking noise with his tongue, “I wouldn’t be sure Mick. No one else knows your ship is disabled, and since this ship is one of kind by Time Bastard standard, Gideon can’t exactly track it with ease. It’s why she spent so long designing the time courier on your wrist to keep track of the ship.”

“But someone will know something is up when I don’t return,” yet Mick doesn’t sound so confident in that statement.  
“Doubtful,” Leonard drawls, “You were sent off on this mission as punishment for being difficult. Lance probably expects to take your sweet time returning and thinks you’re just clearing your head or trying to spite her out of stubbornness. I’d be surprised if anyone questions your absence.”

Mick watches as Leonard swings around the room in zero gravity, a gracefulness that he didn’t think his partner had in him. 

“It looks like it’s just you and me Mick,” Leonard gestures between them, “For however long you have left.”

XXX

“What’chu doing?” Sara strolls onto the bridge to see Amaya standing around the central console, examining something on the screen. 

Amaya hardly flinches, but she was slightly startled by the presence of the captain after being focused on the screen for so long. 

“Just checking on the anachronism Rory was sent to fix. Gideon says it was complete,” Amaya answers.  
Gideon’s hologram appears on the other side of the console, leaning on it as if she were like any other crew member, “That is right. The four soldiers have successfully been returned to the battlefield.”

Sara sees the looks on Amaya’s face, as if there’s something troubling her. The captain walks up beside her and places a hand on her shoulder. 

“Mustn’t be easy seeing soldiers sent off to a war you once fought in,” Sara comforts.  
Amaya nods, “Things were different back then. The JSA had a simple objective. Save lives and take down the enemy. Then the Spear of Destiny happened, most of the team is dead, the rest scattered through time, and me, flying through time on a ship as we fix reality.”

Sara pauses, about to say something but even she doesn’t really know what to say about that. Sometimes she forgets Amaya is from so far back in the past and what that actually means for her being a time travelling Legend with the rest of them. 

Instead, she just gives her a reassuring smile and pat on the back, “Well, at least Rory got them back safely.”

Sara turns to head off when Amaya calls out to her.

“Speaking of Mick, have you heard from him? Gideon said the anachronism has been fixed for a few hours now,” she looks between the holographic Gideon and Sara.  
Sara shakes her head and looks at Gideon, “I haven’t heard anything. He say anything to you?”

Gideon shakes her head, “Mr Rory has not initiated or responded to any communications requests by Ms Jiwe.”  
“You worried or something?” Sara asks Amaya. 

The totem warrior shakes her head, “I just thought we’d at least hear something from him. Or he’d respond. Just to say he was getting drunk in a bar.”  
Sara shrugs, the expression on her face showing some understanding for Amaya’s concerns, “You know Mick. Sometimes he just wants to be left alone. He’s probably found somewhere to relax and just left the communicator on his ship while he does whatever he does.”

Amaya nods hesitantly. Sara sees a growing concern but tries to assure her that everything is alright before she exits the bridge and heads to her room. Gideon’s holographic form walks around the console and approaches Amaya.

“I’ll keep a lookout and let you know if something comes up,” Gideon promises.  
Amaya puts on a smile, “Thank you, Gideon.”

XXX

Mick needs to move. If no one is coming for him, then he needs to find a way of getting to them. His first thought is the time courier. 

“You already tried that,” Leonard’s voice pierces his ears, and Mick looks over to his partner. 

The smug punk is casually sitting with his legs sprawled out in front of him on the operating table where Mick fixed his spine from the plasma shot. He looks as if nothing is the matter, examining marks on the table underneath him as if they’re fascinating and tell a story. 

Leonard glances over his shoulder to look at Mick, “First thing you tried after the initial crash. Seems this EMP is able to disable time couriers as well.”  
Something click’s in Mick’s head, “Wait, if everything is disabled, then-”  
“You’re no longer in the time stream,” Leonard finishes, “That is correct. Emergency protocols managed to kick in and eject the ship into space, but that was it before even they were shut down. Now we’re just a hunk of metal in the middle of space. Don’t know when, don’t know where.”

Mick frowns at his partner. Typical of Snart to crack a joke or reference something in times like these. But the reality of the situation doesn’t escape Mick. He tries at the straps once again, this time pushing past all the pain in his ribs as he frees himself and starts rising out of the medical bed. 

“I need to get to the reactor,” Mick decides, “Maybe I can find a way of jump-starting the engines, or at least get enough power to activate the courier.”

Leonard doesn’t look comfortable, but floats himself out of the way between Mick and the door of the medbay, “Think you can make it?”

Mick doesn’t respond, he has to make it. Using his feet, he pushes off the medical bed and coasts towards the door, thanking himself for prying it open to get in here earlier. Unfortunately for him, the ship is pitch black in darkness, yet he's spent centuries in this ship, he knows it inside and out. But that’s also when he was in peak condition, not suffering from a concussion and broken ribs. 

And did he mention how fucking freezing it got all of a sudden? Because holy fuck he’s realising how cold it is now. With the life support completely disabled, and the fact they were thrown into space, all the heat has been dissipating from the ship. Mick can also faintly detect the beginnings of his problem with fresh air circulation, but all this can be averted if he can just get to the reactor room. 

Leonard knocks on metal frame beside Mick, surprising the pyro briefly, “Maybe you should take the lamp. I know I don’t trust the concussion to guide you through the darkness.”

Mick agrees and floats back over to the lamp and grabs it one hand before pushing himself through the room to the door again. Floating in zero gravity is one of the most uncomfortable feelings that Mick has experienced. He’s only experienced it once as Chronos, and that wasn’t true zero gravity, just simulated during a fight with some target he was hunting down. This was real, and very difficult. 

Mick pressed himself up against the wall, keeping a firm grip with his other hand onto a metal beam travelling along the wall. Using it as a handrail, Mick pulled himself through the ship at a slow rate. With each push or pull that he used to traverse the Pendulum’s corners and long corridors, his ribs and subsequently, lungs, only ached more and more. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes, what with all the pausing to catch his breath, and try and warm himself up, but he is close. Just another corner and he’s there. Crawling around the corner like a spider on the wall, Mick gets to the reactor room entrance and as soon as he gives the area some light with the lamp, hope instantly vanishes from him.

“Fuck,” Mick looks at the sealed door.

All of a sudden, he remembers the crowbar sitting beside the doorframe in the medical bay and Mick instantly regrets not noticing it sooner and bringing it with him. 

“Storage room is at the end of the corridor. Might be something useful there,” Leonard suggests, peering over Mick’s shoulder before floating past.

Mick grunted, pausing to try and block out the throbbing in his head that had started up. Everything in zero gravity felt really weird, with his organs feeling weightless inside him, his stomach in particular feeling like crap. Maybe it was the alcohol he consumed in Chicago that wasn’t making him feel any better. 

Pushing himself down the corridor, he coasted towards the storage room at the far end. Like the reactor room, the door was sealed shut, but fortunately, it was smaller in size. Therefore, the resistance in forcing the door open, once Mick managed to squeeze his fingers between the frame, was less than that of the reactor. In theory, that should have made forcing the door open easy for Mick, but as soon as he started exerting any kind of force to pry the door apart, his ribs may as well have been screaming in pain. 

Eventually, after feeling his lungs crush against his broken ribs due to how he had to position himself in the zero gravity, the door was forced open. But Mick felt exhausted and barely managed to hold himself up against the frame. 

“Can’t stop now, Mick,” Leonard’s voice drilled into his ears, “You give up, and you might as well kiss returning-to-the-Waverider goodbye.”

That’s right. Mick focuses on the room in front of him and uses the flame in the lamp to provide light. It doesn’t have to be a crowbar, Mick decides, it just has to be something that can work to a similar extent. A metal beam sits against the wall, reflecting the light off of Mick’s lamp, and he immediately reaches out to grab it. 

“Just your friendly reminder about the pressing situation of uncirculated and unfiltered oxygen in this ship,” Leonard chimes in, appearing back at the reactor’s double doors as Mick coasts towards it. 

Mick’s not sure which clock he’s racing against. Technically, he’s racing against all of them. Eventually, his ribs are going to cause enough damage to his lungs that he won’t be able to breathe. But there’s also a lack of filtered oxygen circulating throughout the ship, so eventually, he’ll pass out or collapse. And then there’s the cold. With nothing to keep him warm, except his clothes, Mick is just biding time before the hypothermia gets him. 

He wonders which will get him first. He’s tossing it up between the lungs as his first bet, and the hypothermia as his second. 

Wedging the beam between the two metal doors, Mick manages to slip it into a position where he can start applying force. There’s a small creaking as the beam is under pressure and the doors begin slowly parting. 

Fuck these ribs. Mick pulls on the beam with a hard tug and hears the mechanism in the door that usually keeps them shut, break apart. He practically collapses through the door on the other side, clutching at the pole and knocking over the lamp floating at his feet in the stumble. 

Exhausted pants escape his mouth as he raises his head to look at the reactor in front of him. 

“You’re close Mick. Don’t give up now,” Leonard encourages, bending down beside him.

Mick uses the momentum of his stumble to float towards the reactor almost lifelessly. He practically is at this point. It’s taking every ounce of strength to not cry out in pain, knowing that doing so will also make his head throb and lungs ache even more. 

In the wall is a panel where Mick keeps spare tools for reactor maintenance. Using the lamp and trying to keep it stationary in the middle of the room, which is hard to do when it floats away, Mick retrieves the tools and takes apart the maintenance panels on the reactor itself. 

“You’ve got this Mick,” Leonard says over Mick’s shoulder. 

He does. He can fix this.

XXX

“Can you explain it simpler terms please Gideon,” Amaya’s patience is wearing thin.  
“No scans detect the Pendulum in the time stream or anywhere on Earth in any time period,” Gideon explains.

“Maybe you’re not looking hard enough!” she doesn’t intend to sound rude, knows inside that it’s wrong to shout at Gideon who has already done so much. 

She can’t explain it. Just something in her gut tells her that something is wrong. That this is different to every other time Mick has gone dark or avoided comms. She can think of only one reason why a ship could have just vanished from existence, but she refuses to believe it. 

Gideon’s holograph expression is sympathetic, aware of the concern that Amaya is currently experiencing.

“The ship entered the time stream after returning the soldiers, and disappeared shortly after,” Gideon says, “I have one more method that should help in determining Mr Rory’s location, but I will require Mr Palmer’s assistance.”

“Anything Gideon,” Amaya looks at her across the console, “Please.”

XXX

Oh god it’s warm. It feels so nice. The gentle hum of the metal underneath his back and the radiating warmth seeping from the reactor felt so good that he could sit here for eternity if that were possible. 

The lamp flickers and Mick wonders how much fuel it has left before it needs to be changed. He takes a moment to appreciate the benefits of such primitive equipment. And for the first time since this whole incident, he can truly focus on the small flame providing light. The casing around the lamp doesn’t allow much heat to escape, but he realises that he can place his hands on the glass shell instead of the handle and heat himself up, marginally. 

Leonard is sitting, thinking about something as he stares off into the distance. Mick keeps himself planted on the ground by using the reactor base as an anchor to keep him from floating around. 

The flame, even in its fading state, looks beautiful. He supposes that it’s the fact that he’s in a pitch-black ship and it is the only light source that makes its value all that more, meaningful. 

“It’s good to see you again,” Mick starts.

Leonard’s head turns slowly, attention landing on the pyro.

Mick lets out a vile cough, small drops of blood on his hand as a result of the damaged lung, “Even under current circumstances.”  
Leonard smirks, “Well it’s no Doom World, but I guess it’s something.”

Those small drops of blood spark a sense of fear in Mick’s body, an understanding of what’s to come. Eventually, the lack of gravity is going to cause all the blood from his damaged lungs to pool up inside him and practically drown him. 

He doesn’t give himself much time left. But at least the answer to his bet seems to be clearer. 

Mick slumps down further, holding onto the reactor to stop himself from floating away. Something jumps in his head and his eyes suddenly go wide. 

“What are we still doing here?” Mick looks at the maintenance panel in the reactor and then down to his time courier.  
“Mick,” Leonard’s voice is calm but firm, and ignored by the pyro.  
Mick turns himself around and grabs a wire from the panel and opens up the time courier on his wrist, “If I can jumpstart the courier, I can get back to the Waverider.”

“Not going to work,” Leonard’s voice may as well be in the distance because it continues to be ignored. 

Mick holds the wire in his hand and proceeds to connect it to the time courier. He waits for a spark, something to signify that the courier is alive, but nothing happens. Mick tries again a few more times, but still nothing. 

“I don’t get it,” Mick lets the wire go and holds back onto the reactor, “Why didn’t it work?”

Leonard floats over beside Mick and leans against the reactor, towering over Mick, “Because this thing,” he taps his knuckles on the reactor, “doesn’t work.”

Everything is like a slap to the face, or a punch to the gut, or whatever else can be used to describe reality coming into realisation around someone. That warmth, suddenly vanishes, the hum is now silent, and hope, well that’s gone too.

“The reactor is completely fried, with no possible way of restarting the power except by replacing the damaged pieces with good ones,” Leonard elaborates, “And even the spare parts for the reactor are all damaged by the EMP.”

Mick cursed, “That’s it. No one is coming.”

Leonard didn’t respond to that statement, and instead changes the topic, “Come on, you need to get back to the medbay. Air is running low in here.”

The pyro gets to his feet, only to float the rest of the way up and bump gently into the ceiling. His brain lost focus for a few seconds, forgetting where he was and what he was doing, but he’s back now. He floats down, grabs the gas lamp and exits the reactor room. 

Pure silence is almost replicated as he travels through the ship. Only the sound of Mick’s shaky breathing and the sound of either his hands or feet pushing off the walls and floor as he floats through the ship towards the medbay. 

Over the course of traversing the ship, Mick’s vision continued to increase in blurriness, the throbbing of his head continuing to grow in intensity as his breaths became weaker and shallower. Moving around the ship, even in zero-g was utterly exhausting for him, but he pressed on regardless, even if it brings him closer to death. 

The distance to the medbay was unknown at this point. Was it the next corridor? Had he already gone past it? Had he even left the reactor room, or was this another hallucination?

Somehow, he reaches it. Maybe it was some part of his subconscious that was still managing to function while the rest of him continues to degrade. He flies into the medical room, colliding into the cabinet on the far wall and pulling it open less than a second later, using the lamp to see what he’s doing. 

The oxygen bottle was cold in his hands as he fumbled with it and the breathing mask. The simple act of connecting the bottle to the tube was straining on his body, but there was a level of desperation that had him push through it. 

Fresh air. He can taste the difference, and oh God does it feel good. His brain considers for a moment if this a hallucination. 

“Trust me,” Leonard appears again. 

Mick had been so distracted in getting back, that he almost forgot about his partner. 

“This is real. Should keep you alive until you choke on your own blood at least,” Leonard’s drawl feels like it is meant to lighten the mood, but Mick can’t be bothered to care right now. 

Deep breaths in and out. He’s like that for another few minutes, letting his body try to relax as he moves back over to the bed and loosely wraps a strap around his leg to keep him tied down. 

Leonard is silent as he floats around the room. He doesn’t know how Leonard would truly react in a zero-gravity environment. Snart always had a thing for sci-fi stuff, and whilst he pretended to be uninterested in the whole time travel business when he first joined, it didn’t stop him from privately enjoying the pleasures of an actual Time Ship. 

“When I died,” Leonard pauses for a moment, considering something but decides against it, “I left a lot of things unsaid and undone. Things I wish I said to Sara, being able to properly say goodbye to Lisa, but most importantly, was the things I never said or did to you Mick. Things like never thanking you for saving my life more times than I can count, for being accepting of my cold personality. I wish I could have been a better partner, treated you better than the way I did, especially when you needed it.”

Leonard lifts his gaze and looks over to Mick, “I know it means nothing at this point, but if there’s anything you need to say before you, well, you know. You can.”

Mick considers the offer, removing the mask from his face momentarily to look at Snart. There is so much he wishes was different. He wishes his father never went to war, or at least didn’t come back in the mental state he did. He wishes he didn’t burn his family alive, too scared to try and help and instead just sit and watch from a distance. 

He wishes he wasn’t so dangerous to everyone around him. Whilst Leonard was right, and that Mick had saved Leonard many times, there were just as many times where Mick had done something stupid or dangerous that could very easily have put Leonard in grave danger. 

He wishes that the Oculus was different. That it only went as far as Mick knocking Raymond out. Boyscout could do good in the world, Mick couldn’t, or at least he didn’t think he deserved to. It should have been simple, yet righteous revenge on the Time Bastards. 

Regrets pile on, more than he can count. Some big, some small. All meaningful in their own way. Nothing he can do about them now. Ironic, he thinks. That for someone who spent centuries travelling through time, he can’t fix the mistakes in his own life. It makes him question what the point of it is. 

“The reason I pushed Amaya away, after she told me I wasn’t a bad guy, was because she’s wrong. I had you rattling around in my head during that time, reminding me that I was still alive and not you. And then when Stein pulled that chip out of my head, the one that helped me be a better Chronos, I was constantly reminded of everything I had done,” Mick’s coarse voice echoes within the medbay, making the only noise in the room. 

“And just thinking about everything I had done in my life, all the pain and damage I caused,” Mick pauses to take in another breath of oxygen, “I just couldn’t accept that someone like Amaya, a hero like Amaya, could ever respect me if she found out. I was scared of how she'd reject me.”

Leonard's nod is understanding, "So you rejected her first, because at least you could control that."

Mick is silent, and that silence is his answer. He doesn't know how many times he's thought about doing it differently. But every time he wants to do something, say something, he just can not. There's a word for who he used to be before the Waverider. A pyromaniac criminal. But he cannot find a word for who has become since Chronos. Monster, is not enough, just as it was not enough for Vandal Savage."

“You didn’t even give her a chance Mick,” Leonard points out, “Who knows how she would have responded, but at least you’d have been truthful. I suppose that’s the way it is with people like us, Liars and thieves. Our natural response is to push people away, never confide in anyone but ourselves. We're the bad guys," Leonard's drawl is laced with a mocking tone, "And bad guys only get loot, drinks, and a bullet to the back of our head.”

Mick shakes his head, “It’s different with her. She’s not you. I could open up to you, tell you about what being Chronos was like-”  
“You didn’t Mick,” Leonard interrupts.

Mick’s frozen in place, looking at Snart with a confused expression, “What do you mean? We talked. You walked into the brig after you returned the kid to his father, we fought and then one of us suggested we try talking to each other.”

Leonard is silent as he shakes his head.

But Mick continues, confusion growing on his face, “So we did, and that’s when I told you about being Chronos and everything I had done.”

Leonard floats over and leans against the wall beside Mick, “I’m sorry Mick, but you didn’t say any of that.”

Mick puts the breathing mask to his face and inhales a fresh breath of oxygen. His heart is racing, mind confused as he tries to determine fiction from reality.

“Maybe if you did, things would be different,” Leonard shrugs, “Maybe it would have been you at the Oculus. Or maybe I’d still refuse to let you die and it would still be me. No one knows, and we can never find out. But we didn’t talk.”

Mick doesn’t understand, “This can’t be right.”

“We fought, you had me dead to rights and about to bash my face in, but you didn’t. You let me go and said you didn’t know what you wanted anymore. I asked what you meant, and you proceeded to explain that our entire team was being pursued by a group called the Hunters. You said that what you wanted never mattered anymore. That’s it. There was no talking,” Leonard explains, voice sombre as he watches Mick try to get a grasp on the situation. 

Leonard crouches down, placing a hand on Mick’s shoulders, “You never told anyone Mick, what it was like being Chronos. You never let anyone in, keeping everyone at arm’s length, including Amaya. Especially, Amaya. The one person who tried to get you to open up, to be a better partner than I ever could be. She cares for you, but you refuse to form any kind of attachments. It’s why you chose me over them for the Legion. Even today, you refused to let her join you on this mission.”

Mick stares off at nothing in particular, watching as his chilly breath exits his mouth. Everything seemed to be crashing down around him, and also not, at the same time. Two different stories, two different events, all in his head. 

“Pushing Amaya away had nothing to do with mission and going alone,” Mick corrects Snart, “I think part of me knew what that date signified. Knew that it was our Chicago heist. The last one we pulled before the blackout and escaped the city. I think part of me just wanted to relive it, just the two of us, like it used to be.” 

Leonard nods, his face displaying a sign of understanding and acceptance for Mick’s justification. It was a small heist, but perfectly executed, and with the added bonus of getting a piece of shit off the streets, it was a job well done. 

A vile cough erupts from Mick, and the pyro can feel the blood pooling inside him as it makes his breathing even harder than it previously was. He can only guess how long he has left now. 

Leonard watches, examining Mick as if he could potentially do something, but they both know it’s hopeless. He’s just a figment of Mick’s imagination. 

The gas lamp is running low, flickering on its last volumes of fuel. Mick can only crack a smile at the symbolism of it. He imagines his life is tied with this lamp, both of them on their last breaths. 

With hardly enough energy inside him to even hold onto the oxygen tank, he lets go and watches as his hand falls down to his knee, while the bottle stays in motionless in the air. 

Mick can feel that time is coming to an end. Consciousness is slipping from him, and once he fades, it will be a matter of minutes before the true end. 

Leonard stands up, as if gravity exists for him in this moment, looming over Mick with a sorrowful expression. 

“Thank you,” Mick croaks, “For being here, and being the best damn partner I could have asked for.”  
Leonard nods, turning on the spot and heading for the door, stopping as he reaches the doorway and turns to look at Mick over his shoulder, “It's never wrong to let people in. You never have to be alone. It’s your decision.”

This is his way of asking if Mick wants him to stick around, until the end. 

Mick looks up, vision blurred but still able to make out of the outlines of Snart. He shakes his head, letting his partner know he is ok. That he is ready. 

Leonard smiles, whispers a goodbye and walks out of the medbay. The light travels only so far down the corridor, the weak flame just illuminating beyond the open doorway. Mick watches as his partner vanishes into the darkness, the last trace of his boot leaving the reach of the flame before disappearing for good. 

His vision is blurry, blurrier to be more accurate, and when Mick blinks his eyes, he can tell why. The liquid of a tear forms in the corner eye, unable to break free in the lack of gravity, instead just obscuring his vision as he tries to blink it away. 

Exhaustion eventually overwhelms him, and a time comes when Mick is unable to reopen his eyes. Small orange flickers of the flame still penetrate through the tiny gap in his eyelids, and a few moments later, they stop, and then there is only darkness.

Everything is quiet on the Pendulum. No movement, no light, and soon to be, no life.

Mick does not know what to expect. He has never been one to believe in an afterlife, and even if he did, he has a strong guess on where he would be heading. 

A final breath is taken, and for his remaining moments, he has to put up with the burning in his lungs as they cry out, unable for anything to be done. His body continues to freeze, the heat from the hallucination a thing well in the past. 

Reality is often disappointing as Mick finds. He always imagined that his death would be grand, or spectacular. Going out in a ball of flames was always something that Mick had believed in. But his level of disappointment is not as much as he thought it might have been. 

He supposes that this is an easier death. A calmer death, where he can imagine that all those years of living have finally caught up to him and his body has surrendered to the natural order of things. 

His thoughts drift to the team. He may not have been able to say goodbye, but Mick always hated that kind of thing. He wonders what they will do in his absence. Will they defeat their mysterious foe? Will the mysterious foe defeat them? He is unsure, but he has faith in his team, that they will prevail. 

After that, there is nothing.

Until rays of white light pierce through his closed eyelids.

The time has come. 

He feels a soft hand land on his cheek. 

The final thing Mick does, is lean into the gentle touch.

**Author's Note:**

> As I said in the top notes, this story will reappear in the larger story, but I decided that this would be something nice to upload anyway while I continue working on it. I have many other ideas for my story, a few out-of-order chapters already written so far. One of them is heavily inspired by another Person of Interest episode, but contains massive spoilers for my entire plot line so I can't reveal it. I am trying not to make it appear as if I'm directly rewriting Person of Interest into Legends of Tomorrow, which is why I'm doing a lot of my own ideas, with some PoI inspired chapters like this one and the If-Then-Else scattered between. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story. I have no ETA on when the bigger story is going to be released, because as I said, I have not been writing chronologically so far. I'm just getting ideas into words and then going to sort out the timeline when I'm ready.


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